The Learning Curve
by Rinoa Redcloak
Summary: Hisoka gets in a jam. Tatsumi's glasses are caught in the ensuing stickyness. And Watari is a human rubber ball. TatsumiHisoka romance, the long way.


A/N: Multi-part romance fic. First 100 words by Penny Paperbrain, used with permission. My gratitude to her for a wonderful challenge and for the terrific beta-reading.

**The Learning Curve**

Hisoka couldn't see much with these on. He could see _over _them however, because they kept slipping down his nose.

He needed to be quick: Tatsumi wouldn't have gone further than the bathroom without his glasses. Hit by inspiration, he clicked off the secretary's monitor.

He _almost _looked like Tatsumi in the vague reflection of the darkened screen. He tried to lengthen his face, to look dignified and composed instead of sulky.

One day, this would be his office. And then...

_Shit!_ The door had opened and Hisoka sensed an amused presence hovering in the air, moving silently behind him.

"I never realised my spectacles were so handsome. You encourage me to narcissism."

"Ta-Tatsumi...!" Hisoka, while not really that surprised, still felt as if he got caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar, which happened to be Tatsumi's chair... next to Tatsumi's desk... While using his glasses, even! His eyes were fixed to the computer screen, meeting Tatsumi's cool gaze that betrayed none of the amusement he emitted - probably doing it on purpose, the bastard. Hisoka wanted to melt into the shadows and slink away through the keyhole. Then he remembered the shadows were Tatsumi's, too, and at about that moment his jaw began to tremble. Doubling his embarrassment, he noticed that made him look as if he were pouting.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt two firm hands land on his shoulders, probably to keep him from bolting to the door the first chance he got.

"Is there something wrong with your eyesight? Or could it be," Tatsumi paused for effect, leaning down, "that you're after my position, hmm?" Whirling Hisoka around in the chair, he frowned and carefully picked his spectacles from the younger man's face. "Although this," he dangled the glasses between them, "does put an interesting kink into that theory..."

Hisoka could feel the cold drops of sweat forming on his forehead. But he had to say something in his defence, and preferably soon.

"I... I did have something to ask you," he quickly replied. "And those?" He stuck his finger out to poke at the glasses. "I was just curious." He did his best to look nonchalant, but going by Tatsumi's expression, he wasn't doing a very good job at that.

"Let's hear it then. Oh but first," Tatsumi gestured up with his fingers, "get the hell out of my chair." His tone was severe, but his lips were twitching upward.

Hisoka scrambled up fairly fast, but feeling disoriented as his mind raced to reach a satisfactory explanation for his actions. He ran through work issues; all too transparent. Tsuzuki might get away with asking advice on filling in the umpteenth report form, but not Hisoka. Ask for a raise? That could be good for a laugh, if he was feeling particularly masochistic. Which he wasn't. Tsuzuki had eaten ten chocolate bars for breakfast; Hisoka had most definitely gotten his share of pain and agony for the day.

Right, personal matters it was, then, he decided. Maybe he could cushion it with some old fashioned flattery. And if all else failed, he could try the teary-eyed trick that always worked on Tsuzuki.

"I was wondering if you could help me with something."

Or he could just hang himself from the doorknob right away.

Tatsumi reclaimed his chair while Hisoka was fidgeting between said chair and the desk. It was a rather interesting choice of positioning, and Tatsumi guessed that the boy was either up to something beyond a professional consultation, or simply too flustered to think of moving away. Well, he wasn't about to make an issue out of it.

"Help you with what, exactly?"

Hisoka bit the inside of his lip in apprehension. He was feeling the beginnings of a headache tightening on his temples. Sighing, he leant back, half-sitting on the wooden surface, and closed his eyes, ready to say the first excuse that popped into his head. Luckily for him, his subconscious had no troubles coming up with ideas.

"Lately... I've noticed that I have troubles controlling my temper. I mean, it's getting out of my hands. I'm flying off the handle every day now, and that's not what I expected to happen after..." He almost followed with "Kyoto", but quickly swallowed the word. It was needless, anyway. "To tell you the truth, I'm giving myself a headache with these, what should I call them..."

"Mood swings?" Tatsumi offered, and Hisoka nodded. It sounded even more childish than it felt before it was put into words. It was all so cruelly tangible now.

"It's beginning to affect..." He choked on the words forming on his tongue. Things were so much easier when he could still pretend he didn't care. Now, after all they'd been through, he couldn't regrow the layer of indifference worn off by years of... belonging, he guessed. For a moment he tried to clarify, but realized there were no words for the pain that welled up with every hurtful word out of his mouth, every outburst of rage that wouldn't dry out. Instead, Hisoka flexed his fingers, and bent his head down in the familiar bow he knew by heart; just the right angle for asking a favour from someone higher up in the corporate food chain. He thought it was too ironic that the two things he hated in life followed him to the afterlife: Empathy and protocol. "Please tell me how you manage it?"

The amusement was rolling off in waves now, the edges tinged with a froth of emotion too faint to interpret. "Manage what?" Tatsumi asked, dispassionate as ever.

That was the final straw. "Not blowing your top off, of course!" Hisoka yelled. His cheeks were on fire, and his heart was beating overtime. Again, it happened and left him trying to catch his breath and fighting against the pulsing headache. He hated this; the fury within him was like a volcano, and it didn't listen to reason when it decided to erupt.

"I see." Tatsumi fixed his glasses and straightened his posture. "Have you considered talking this over with Tsuzuki? Or Watari, he has more knowledge of the psyche."

"Tsuzuki? No chance, he'd just blame himself for making me ill or something stupid like that." Hisoka let out a sound that was remarkably like a short laugh, and continued: "Watari? Didn't even cross my mind, really. Actually, it did. So did all his potions." He tilted his head as he pondered on what kind of mess he'd gotten himself now.

Nodding, Tatsumi undid one of his armbands, absently playing with the clasp. "Very well. If that is what you wish." A plan was already forming in his mind. "But you'd do well to remember, I'm only agreeing out of a general concern for the well-being of our employees. That, and I'm flattered you should seek my help in the first place."

"I had no idea flattery would work on you," Hisoka attempted another joke, only to have it fall on its face in the vaguely uncomfortable silence that followed. Silence that was punctuated with the click clack of the clasp Tatsumi was playing with, a nervous gesture for anybody else, but with Tatsumi, it resembled meditation.

"It doesn't." Click. "And if it did, do you think I would tell anyone?" Clack.

Hisoka had no idea when he had closed his eyes, but once he opened them, he was staring straight into blue eyes glinting with mirth. And it all clicked into place; the only thing that had fallen was his chance of escaping here without making a commitment to something he wasn't quite sure he'd enjoy.

At least it seemed to entertain his new tutor.

* * *

Tatsumi carried the tray carefully ahead of him, eyeing the door with suspicion. This was always the riskiest part... except when the real danger decided to wait and lull its victim into false security. 

But Tatsumi was nothing if not courageous. So he straightened his back, lifted his chin and after a gentle rap at the door, he stepped in.

A quick look around confirmed no imminent danger: there was nothing brewing over the Bunsen flame, nothing shaking on the rotator, and no noxious fumes that he could detect.

"Why, Watari-san, have you given up on destroying company property?"

Watari looked up from the furthermost table, scribbling something over a pile of papers even as he flashed a smile and greeted Tatsumi: "Nice to see you too! Do come in... Oh wait, what is that?" He placed the pen down and squinted his eyes. "You came to bring me tea? What's the occasion? Or should I say, what's the favour this time?" He flipped his hair back and grinned. Tatsumi was always so transparent.

"Can I not come and greet a colleague without ulterior motives, Watari-san?" Tatsumi set the tray down, grabbed a chair and helped himself on the tea. "Why must you always expect the worst from me, it breaks my heart, it really does."

Reaching for the second cup, Watari shook his head. "You're too old for sarcasm, my dear. Leave that to us young folks."

"Who are you calling dear, Watari-san? Or old?"

They glared at each other for a moment over the rim of their teacups, two pairs of four-eyes, the corners crinkling in an almost identical pattern. Then, before either had gotten to take even a sip, they both gave up and laughed.

The same song and dance, verse eleven same as the first, and even now it worked between them. It was almost as if they had to test whether the other was still the same every time they met like this, unofficial and without the cushions of corporate necessity. Tatsumi assumed it was some kind of a scientific test on Watari's part, whereas Watari was simply relishing the chance to get his snark on.

"But seriously, Watari-san," Tatsumi continued after the first tentative sip, "you're not out of any important chemicals or..."

Watari waved his hand in dismissal. "Oh no, not at all. You know what they say, well- planned is half done, or something." He made a motion towards the paper pile he'd been working on. "I'm almost done with the calculations..." Suddenly, he slammed his hand on the table. "Damnit! I almost forgot!"

Tatsumi's eyebrows arced. "What now?"

"I have to prepare the wash!" He scratched his head and began to pace back and forth next to the table. "But where did I put that acid..."

Choking on his tea was a small problem as Tatsumi readied himself to bolt any minute now. Acid and Watari never did mix well.

This made Watari stop dead in his tracks. "Oh relax, you worrypants!" he exclaimed, "It's just standard lab procedure!" He grabbed the mug and emptied it in one gulp, then turned his inquisitive look at Tatsumi. "So, are you going to tell me what you came for?"

"If I may finish this tea first," Tatsumi answered back, still wary of where this human rubberball called Watari might bounce next.

That was next to the adjacent cabinet, or the Door of Horrors as Tatsumi had dubbed it. In other words, by the time Tatsumi had taken another sip, Watari was already carrying a big bottle of acid towards the sink and the empty vat only a few feet away. And when Tatsumi was finished with his umpteenth dose of tea today, Watari had measured, poured and taken back the acid.

"It's okay, you can talk now. I have to measure the water, and water's highly unflammable," Watari said with insufferable buoyancy in his voice. "Or do I have to wrench it outta you?"

A deep sigh and an habitual adjustment of his glasses later, Tatsumi spoke: "No need for that, Watari-san. But..." he stood up and took a few steps closer, "I do have a slight... problem, I suspect."

Watari nodded and turned the tap. "Work or personal?"

"A bit of both, I suspect. There's this... well, someone came to seek my advice and frankly, I don't know if I'm the right person for that," Tatsumi finished, waiting for another prod forward. This was making him uncomfortable.

Watari sighed. "I'm getting the wrench soon."

"Yes yes. Actually, I was wondering if you knew any, how should I say this, anger management techniques that work in, shall we say, special situations?" It was more difficult than he thought to ask this without telling outright who and what was in question.

But Watari was no spring chicken in Tatsumi-reading. "My my, aren't you transparent, Tatsumi-san. You mean if there's any danger, let's say, for someone with _immense_ psychic abilities bordering on _telepathy_ and the like, to suppress _sudden outbursts_ of emotion?" He threw a knowing glance at Tatsumi, who was fidgeting with his suit buttons, and continued. "In a word, no." He stopped to turn off the tap and check the water level. "In fact, I commend you and wish you all the best with that. Quite a feat if you manage it, I say."

Tatsumi cleared his throat and said: "You think so?"

"Sure!" Watari was already tilting the can of water when he suddenly turned serious. "Hmm... wasn't it acid into water, not water into acid... Oh well," he shrugged and proceeded to pour the water.

The alarm bells were ringing wildly by now in Tatsumi's head. He took a step back, and another, until he was backed against the table. Cursing in his mind, he once again swore he'd never step foot in this doomed laboratory again.

"Ooh, it's getting hotter!" Watari enthused, completely disregarding his companion's distress. "Annnd... there! Ready, and it didn't even blow up!"

Tatsumi was hard pressed to keep the creeps in his spine out of his voice. "A magnificent achievement, I'm sure."

Flashing a full- toothed smile, Watari raised his fist in the victory sign.

"I am definitely leaving now," Tatsumi muttered as he walked carefully towards the door, never turning his back on the mad scientist disguised as a normal... dead guy.

"Please come again!"

Tatsumi was relieved to see the tray and mugs back on his desk by the time he came back from his desperately needed break.


End file.
